As the queue around the ice cream van continued to grow in size a hackney cab turned into the car park but stopped almost immediately in front of the entrance. There was a small delay whilst the passenger inside was obviously paying the driver and then a medium sized man opened the door and stood watching the ice cream van as the taxi driver took one look at the growing mob of old people and quickly departed. The newcomer was carrying a raincoat that was hung over one arm, and in the other hand he was carrying what appeared to be a large garishly striped shopping bag. The man strode over to the removals van and after a short conversation with the driver and his co-worker, carefully worked his way around the mob and entered the home.
Wilma eyed him suspiciously from behind the reception desk, one hand reaching for the small doll underneath the desk once again, but then brightened her expression as she recognised him.
“Mr Rogers!” she said, smiling. “It is your moving in day today, is it not?” The man approached the desk, placing his striped shopping bag on the floor.
“Please.” he said in a pleasant, deep voice. “Just call me Ted.”
“Ted Rogers.” said Wilma, a vague hint of a smile beginning to play across her face. Ted seemed to be squirming on the spot, almost as if he knew what was coming next. She repeated his name. “Ted Rogers.” There was a slight pause and then she continued. “Are you bringing Dusty Bin with you?” This she said with a slightly nervous giggle. The look on Ted’s face however may have indicated that this was a conversation he had been involved with many times.
“My.” he said sarcastically, “I haven’t heard that one before. Do you have my key or do I have to answer a few questions before I get it?” Wilma sniffed at his response, thinking that perhaps Mr Rogers may be suffering from a sudden sense of humour failure. Behind him most of the crowd began to wander back in from the car park, ice cream cornets held in their hands. The ice cream van outside however was still doing brisk business. A few of them carrying ice creams of various types returned to the lifts to ascend to their flats, but most of them took a seat in the common room to eat them. Wilma found the keys and handed them over to Ted.
“Mrs Vanderbilt will probably look in to say hello.” she said, “And there are a few forms to fill in. I’ll put them in your welcome pack. If you could return them when you get time that will be okay.” She handed the pack and the keys to Ted. “Though I suspect that you may be a bit busy for the first few days, I imagine.” Ted gave his thanks and placed the pack in his striped bag before making his way to the lift. He stood alone and pressed the button. There was a low swishing noise as the lift began to descend. The light of the lift then showed in the window and the doors opened. Ted entered and pressed the button for the third floor.
“Top floor.” he muttered under his breath. “Penthouse suite.” As the doors began to close Ted heard someone shout from reception.
“Hold the lift!” he heard, and pressed the button on the wall to keep the doors open. He kept his finger pressed on it, unsure of exactly how it worked, but taking a brave stab at it as the funeral director and his driver entered the lift. To Ted’s horror they seemed to be carrying a large coffin between them. There followed several minutes of slapstick as the pair of them tried to manoeuvre the gold handled box into the lift without crushing anyone. After a little time and several apologies from the funeral director they managed it and they then requested the same floor as Ted. The lift rose in a slightly uneasy silence.
Further chaos ensued when the lift doors opened. Eventually however the coffin was eased out of the lift and with several words of apologies the two funeral directors solemnly and slowly made their way along the corridor. Ted was dismayed to find that they were heading in exactly the same direction as him. He knew where his new home was, of course. He had been there twice before to see the facilities and the flat, so he did not need to think about which way he was going. He was however, filled with an equal feeling of shock and relief when he found that the funeral directors were heading for number twenty eight. Right next door to him. As they moved along the corridor at a funereal pace, the door to number twenty eight opened and what was presumably the doctor stuck his head around the door. “Come in gentlemen.” he said, “I’ll hold the door open.” The two funeral directors disappeared inside, struggling to get the coffin through the door which the doctor was trying to keep from closing. Ted thought that perhaps they may also have to enlist the doctor to help get the coffin back out again. Not that the passenger would mind terribly about all the fuss, he reckoned. Sighing to himself he turned the key in the door and let himself in to his flat.
The living area was exactly how he remembered it from his last visit. That would be the visit he hadn’t shared the lift with a coffin on, he thought. He wandered around the rooms, visiting each in turn. Two bedrooms (he liked the space), a bathroom and a kitchen with a fridge and oven already built in. He had been lucky to find this place, he reflected, the home was always very much in demand. He stood there for what must have been a good fifteen minutes waiting for his new flat to begin to feel like home, and not a home. The main room was relatively large and spacious with a wide, tall window that overlooked the grounds and the car park off to one side. Pulling back the vertical blinds he could see that the ice cream van was still dealing with the odd few stragglers, and as he watched the two funeral directors appeared along with the doctor, carrying the coffin to the hearse. There seemed to be some banter going on with his removal men too, as he noticed the window of the removal van wind down followed by a well-timed and obviously earnest two fingered salute, which the funeral directors seemed to be ignoring, though it was difficult to tell for sure from Ted’s vantage point.
He placed the bag down by the door and wandered through to the kitchen where a “guide to your appliances” had been thoughtfully left on the worktop for him. He flicked through it whilst not really bothering to look at any of the instructions at the same time. He would save that for later. He paused, remembering someone telling him once that moving house was one of the three most stressful things you could do. What were the other two? He struggled to recall, but eventually he remembered. The second one was a wedding, and therefore probably the third one was divorce. In truth, he didn’t really feel stressed at all; it was as if all this was happening to someone else. Especially when he looked down on the removal van from the window. As he watched, the ice cream van finally left and drove off onto the main road. Shortly after the sound of its bells could be heard from somewhere out of sight nearby.
After a few hours the furniture was finally in place. As he stood there trying to muster the energy to begin unpacking there was a loud bailiff’s knock on the door, which Ted opened to reveal a tall yet stout woman dressed in what appeared to be some form of matron’s outfit. Ted noticed that the badge on her jacket read, “Victoria Vanderbilt.” and underneath that, “Matron”. Ted thought that the absence of the “happy to help” slogan wasn’t entirely an error. She looked like a cross between the bearded lady you may possibly see at a circus, and the Terminator. Small milk bottle glasses on her chubby face were obviously a very strong prescription as they made her eyes look enormous.
“Vanderbilt.” she said in what sounded like a strange cross between German and Welsh. Small talk obviously wasn’t her forte.
“Bless you.” Chuckled Ted. His laughter however didn’t seem to be catching.
“I’m sorry?” she said, clearly confused, but before waiting for an explanation she pushed past him, producing a number of small leaflets from inside her jacket as she did so.
“We have many entertainments and activities.” she said, as if reading from a script. Ted noticed that her eyes were all over the place, looking at his furniture, taking it all in. “The facilities are all listed in the leaflets. If you require anything then just ask.” This was clearly as much of a welcoming speech that she could manage, which was based by the look of it entirely on the basis of passing over a couple of leaflets. Ted thought that perhaps it
had more to do with coming to give him the once over than anything.
Obviously satisfied with what she saw she pushed past him once more, making her way back into the corridor. Without even saying goodbye she began to walk away. Ted thought that perhaps social interaction or even chit chat wasn’t her strong point.
“Oh, Mrs Vanderbilt.” said Ted sweetly. The large woman stopped and almost spun on the spot to face him, her large fat face seeming to begin to show signs of possible inconvenience.
“Yes, Mr Rogers?” she sniffed. Ted smiled sweetly again. He was looking forward to this bit. The smile was there purely to distract her.
“I just think it fair to warn you that if you ever enter my flat uninvited again I shall personally take it upon myself to throw you out of the window. As big as you are, believe you and me I could manage it.” Vanderbilt sniffed once again at this, only louder this time, her entire face showing signs of shock. Ted knew it was the smile, which was still there on his face. It really confused people, that did. He hadn’t however finished yet. “I haven’t taken any shit all my life, Vicky.” Outrage played across the matron’s face at the shortening of her name, and pretty much everything else Ted seemed to be saying too. Ted got the idea that threats of a general nature didn’t happen to her very often. In fact probably never at all. “And I’m not about to start now.” He concluded. The matron looked as if she was desperately attempting to form some kind of response. Eventually she seemed to gather her wits.
“We lock the main doors at ten!” she spat, and turned and headed away.
“You’d better get me a key cut then!” he shouted after her, “Wouldn’t want to drop my kebab after ten pints through having to knock on the door!” though she was nearly at the lift by now. Her only response was a loud snort that seemed to echo up the corridor behind her. Ted closed the door and stood there in the tiny entrance hall for a moment. He could let the grin go now. “Well that was a good start!” he said out loud to himself, before adding in a comic Germanic voice, “I’ll be back!” Laughing to himself he went into the living room to begin unpacking.
***
It was three weeks later when Ted heard the door of the up to now empty flat next door open and close. At the time he was washing the dishes and so wandered through to his living room, tea towel in hand to listen. There had been several visitors during the last two weeks, and of course there had been a fair bit of banging about when the flat was emptied. Nothing intrusive, but it had been a week or so since he had heard anything from next door. As he listened there was a sound like something being dragged along the corridor outside, and then being turned and dragged into the presumably open door of the flat. “Looks like someone is moving in”, thought Ted, and so he went and opened his door to have a look. Sure enough a pair of small wooden chairs were being dragged up the corridor from the general direction of the lift by a man who was dressed in a long brown overall. A smaller man was trailing behind him, not carrying anything at all apart from what Ted recognised to be one of the welcome packs that he had received nearly three weeks ago. Seeing Ted the newcomer held his hand out and the two men shook hands vigorously. “Morning.” said the newcomer. “Looks like I am going to be your new neighbour.” Ted smiled at him.
“Ted Rogers.” he replied. “And you are Mr ...?” he trailed off.
“Ray.” Said the other man. “Just call me Ray.”
“Well , Ray” said Ted, “I hope you’re not one for all night raves and what have you.” To which the pair of them laughed. “Do you fancy a brew while this lot get on with it?” he offered. Ray was almost across Ted’s doorstep before he had finished the sentence.
“Do I fancy a brew? Is the pope a catholic? Lead on!” He said, which was quite a difficult task as Ray was actually in Ted’s doorway already. Seeing Ted’s predicament he turned and entered the flat, but then poked his head back through the open doorway once again. “Not a Catholic are you?” he asked, and realised that he was just digging himself an even bigger hole. “Not that I’ve got anything against Catholics.” he said, “Just didn’t want to go upsetting you, like.”
Ted laughed. “No I’m not.” he said, “Not that it would have upset me anyway.”
“Oh good.” said Ray, finally managing to get his mouth under control, before frowning as he realised that he was still digging himself into a hole.
“I’ll put the kettle on.” Said Ted, and the two men disappeared into the flat, the door closing quietly behind them.
It took all of ten minutes for Ted and Ray to become friends. The fact that they had both worked on the docks during the sixties at some point was probably the deciding factor, and before long they were both swapping tales, seeing if they had any mutual acquaintances, and so on. They got so involved with their reminiscing that Ray forgot all about the removal men altogether. It was only when there was a loud vaguely irritated knock on Ted’s door that he remembered about them and had to leave pretty quickly in order to supervise.
“Tell you what, Ray.” said Ted as his new found friend made to go, “I’ll give you a tour in the morning. Introduce you to people and what have you. How does that sound?”
“Sounds like a great idea!” said Ray. “How does nine o’clock sound?”
“Give it till ten.” said Ted, grimacing. “Takes me a while to get going in the morning these days.” Ray nodded in agreement and off he went. Shortly after Ted could hear shouting from next door which was rapidly replaced by the sound of what sounded like large objects being moved around. Eventually even this stopped and after a bite to eat, Ted went to bed and drifted off to sleep easily.
***
The two men exited the lift and made their way into the reception area, where Wilma sat behind the desk sorting various items of mail into small piles. She smiled at them as they appeared and then went back to arranging the envelopes.
“Watch that one.” said Ted under his breath. “She thinks she’s a bloody witch or something.”
“Really?” said Ray, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah. Caught her sticking pins in a doll she keeps under the counter the other day. Well, a pencil, anyway. Mad as a bag of frogs, she is.”
“Morning.” said Ray to her, and Wilma smiled, before replying.
“And a good morning to you too, gentlemen. Can I help you with anything?”
“Not unless my broomstick needs servicing.” muttered Ted under his breath just loud enough for Ray to hear, before continuing, “Just giving Ray here a guided tour.” he finished as Ray stifled a laugh beside him. Wilma looked slightly confused, as if she was not quite sure what the two men were smiling about, but at the same time suspecting that it may just be her. Muttering, “Heathens!” not too quietly under her breath she went back to dealing with the post.
“Well if there’s anything you need just ask.” she said finally with an air of dismissal. Ted led Ray across the reception area to the large open plan common room which was quite large. Two old ladies sat watching the television, though it was obvious from their distracted expressions that neither of them could actually hear any of it all.
“Morning ladies.” said Ray and the two old women sat looking at the two of them in silence for a while before Ted interrupted.
“This is Ray.” he practically shouted, startling Ray beside him. “Ray, this is Gladys and Susan.”
“Good morning Gladys and Susan.” repeated Ray, this time shouting. Vague traces of irritation played across the two women's faces before Gladys began twiddling with her hearing aid and turned to face the other woman.
“What’s he saying it’s May for?” she shouted. “It’s August!” with a snort of derision she turned back to the television once again. “Not another bloody lunatic. Don’t know where this place gets them from!” Ray was desperately trying not to catch Ted’s eye as they stood in the common room looking about them as if not sure where to go next.
“Do you want me to turn the television up for you a bit?” asked Ray and not receiving any response at
all, went to the television and picking the remote control off the top of it pressed a button to increase the volume. A loud shriek of feedback instantly blasted from the set and the two old ladies shot into the air screaming.
“Aegh! You daft bugger!” screamed Susan, grabbing the remote and quickly turning the sound down again. Ray noticed across the way Wilma looking up in concern at the shouts, and allowed Ted to lead him away across the common room where several other residents sat. The pair of them stood there trying not to laugh as numerous curses and insults from Gladys and Susan followed them across the room. Ted pointed out the “library” off to one side that was more or less a shelf which was stocked with various Mills & Boon titles, as well as several westerns. Most seemed to be in large print. They approached an obviously older lady who was sat in a wheelchair at one side of the room beside the window, through which she was looking eagerly.
“I’ll introduce you.” said Ted, approaching the woman, who continued to look through the window as they approached. “Morning, Ethel.” he said and the woman turned to face him.
“Morning Ted.” she said. “Who is your friend?” Ray was quite surprised. The woman was obviously very old, but seemed completely tuned in at the same time. Ted pulled Ray forward by his elbow a bit.
“This is Ray.” he said. The old woman appraised him and smiled.
“Morning Ray.” she said. “I hope you’ll like it here.”
“I’m sure I will.” he replied as Ted began to lead him away.
“Ethel, could you tell Ray how old are you?” asked Ted as they made to continue their tour. Ethel smiled at this as if she got asked the question quite often, and although was a little tired of being asked, was determined to remain polite.
Paul McCartney's Coat Page 36
